Sides
by TheDarkestShinobi
Summary: "You're going to be the death of me," Moran jokes under the desert sun as John smiles. He didn't know he was right. Bamf!John Au in which John and Moran met in service. Some JohnxMoran and Johnlock implied but it's only subtext. Goes up until after the fall.
1. Chapter 1

**TheDarkestShinobi: **I had an idea that John and Seb served together (So original right?) and decided to run with this. This starts during the war in Afghanistan and continues to the Sherlock/Moriarty war. There are no couples in this, (I really don't have one planned, but review if there is something you want, you may get lucky) but you may infer what you wish to. Enjoy!

Bamfness all around

**Start**:

"My men are getting picked off." Moran's commanding officer reads out. He lifts the paper higher as he continued. "Just send me one sniper, the best we have." He lowers the paper. "That's you. Captain Watson has been making tremendous progress, so we're going to do everything we can to keep it that way."

Moran nods as his commanding officer reads him the file and fills him in. He is going to help out the Fusiliers, formerly Northumberland, but dismantled in '68. He'd heard about those guys. They cleared out town after town and were being held up at this last one. The interesting thing about them was their Captain, John Watson. He's a doctor, which isn't unusual, but a doctor that's a captain was. Normally he'd be a WO, a chief. He'd heard a lot about Watson. He heard that John Watson is the type of guy who can shoot your attacker between the eyes with a handgun, patch himself and you up at once, and then carry you both out without another sound.

He is excited if he's honest.

…

"Moran." He's greeted for the 20th time today, and he's annoyed in this heat so he does little more than grunt in response. He's been introduced to Fred, to Jason, to Hannish and Will and Louis and Henry and only God knows who else.

"Follow me, Watson is in the medical bay currently, but he wanted to see you as soon as you touched down." It was a few steps away from where they were, but Moran wouldn't say anything. He ducks under the tent to see two men working on a bullet wound, a short blond man and a taller dark haired muscular fellow who must be John.

"This is Moran," the other introduces and the short blond shakes his head.

"Give us a minute, he's almost done." Moran checks the both of them out but doesn't get a strong vibe from either of them.

"Okay, this one is being sent back." The taller one concludes with a tap to his clipboard before dashing out.

"Sebastian, right?" John says as he pulls off his gloves. Moran nods. "My name is John Watson." Moran shakes hands with the blond and smiles.

"I thought you'd be taller." He is expecting anything but the smile back.

"So you can talk!" Moran nods with a smirk. "Most people think I'm taller, seems I've built up a reputation."

"I know a bit about that."

John pulls Moran away and begins to talk about their situation in more detail than he'd gotten before. Moran's got quite the reputation has well, from what he's heard Sebastian Moran is the type of guy who would wait for days to get a shot at the target and then still decide to walk away from it if the conditions weren't right. He is likely the best sniper in this war, maybe second to Chris Kyle, the American. He knows Moran can get them on the move again.

…

"You have four snipers." Moran says as he leans over the map, still chewing the gum from this morning. John's learned some of his habits already. He always walks to the left of people, always has a piece of gum in his mouth, and prefers to be silent and watch people. He doesn't eat if people can see him and he will wait on the roof of a building for days to spot someone. If he says there are four people, John would bet his army pension there were four. Moran continues chewing.

"Where?" John finally asks and Moran takes a pencil off the table and draws two Xs on two adjacent buildings. "These two guys never move." He draws a line crossing through five buildings. "She moves; she'll be in anyone of these." John raises his brows at the 'she' but doesn't comment. "And this guy is truly lazy, most days he's nowhere, but when he's here it's in this building."

"What's the best plan?" John asks as he scans the map. He doesn't know Moran yet, so he has to ask.

"I can take out any of the four; if I shoot quickly I can take out these two or these two." Moran shrugs. "The rest will hide"

"How quickly can you lock on to someone?" John's asks as a plan formulates in his head.

"Depends if they are trying to hide." John crosses his arms

"Seconds Captain, not minutes." Moran answers as he puts down the pencil.

"Who's got the nicer toys?" John finally asks and Moran points to the two X's.

"Without a doubt."

"Kruger, Loverboy!" John looks up in thought "Gator!" Moran laughs. "Shut it you, I've been thinking about calling you wriggly or bubble." Moran does, quickly.

"Henry's not here." Kruger says as he crosses his arms, "we're down one."

"I'll be there with you."

John lays out the plan and Moran is impressed. He can understand why the group has been moving quickly. Watson's plans are practically flawless and he doesn't mind getting his hands dirty. Moran tells him so, next chance he gets.

"We're lucky," was John's response, "all the civilians have left, so I don't have to worry about it." Moran thinks it's more like collateral damage, but Watson's in charge and Moran's got a job to do.

…

"He's on the roof." John answers Loverboy's unasked question without prompting.

"Why?"

"It gets him where he needs to be." John knows exactly what it is too, Moran is chewing gun and lying flat on his belly with one straight leg and one bent one. He would stay up there until it started, even if John took days.

"Does he want company?"

"I wouldn't go up there." John shakes his head. Moran would ask if he wanted company, right? John watches Loverboy check each gun. It's his routine. John closes his eyes and breathes before he gets up to check their small perimeter, it's his routine. On the way he spots Kruger and Gator debating rugby and smiles. Tomorrow is going to go just fine.

…

John nods twice to Kruger and they both take a breath. They move on the gunshot. Loverboy bounces before gripping his gun just a little tighter. Gator grins. John looks up, waiting. Moran will tell them when everyone's in position. Watson waits and gains admiration for Moran's patience. He's been up there since last night.

They hear the first shot minutes later and are moving. The second shot comes three seconds later. Moran watches through the scope as the other two snipers vanish into the buildings. He keeps searching for them, but he knows they won't perch by a window anytime soon. Loverboy takes two shots and John sees the sniper go down. He hears a few more shots from the building across from them.

"Clear!" He hears Gator's voice and he responds.

"Clear! Head back."

John walks over to the window to see the other snipers body slumped against his gun. The exit wound on the back of his head is nasty. John kneels and turns the body over to search his pockets. He takes the gun off the pod to bring to Moran when he notices the scope is broken. John nods, impressed as he realizes Moran shot this sniper through his sight and through the eye. He did ask for the best, and he got it. Moran likes the new toy, but prefers his own.

Without the snipers, John takes the town in four days.

"You can head back now, if you'd like." Moran looks up from his gun and turns his body to see that Watson had joined him on the roof. Moran sits up facing the other

"Is that an order?" he smirks and John shakes his head letting a small smile show. John nods after a few seconds of silence from the sniper.

"Nice to have you on the team, but if you don't have a nickname in three months, I'm going to call you bubble."

Three months later, when Moran and Watson's leave came up, Moran had resigned himself to that terrible nickname.

…

_You said you were in London, right? -Moran_

John glances at his phone as he reads the message, a blue flip phone that charges him for every text. He smiles and shakes his head. How the hell did Moran even get his number? John taps his phone on his leg before shaking his head and licking his lips. It buzzes again and John reads the next message.

_Don't ask how I got your number._

John laughs, outright giggles, at the messages before sending a reply and calling. Moran answers the phone with a laugh and before he knows it he and Moran were drunk as sailors. John throws an arm around Moran's shoulder, which ended up more around his waist. In response Moran throws his arm around the captain to lead him down the street to a place he knew from his teenage years.

"You know what I haven't had yet?" Moran spits the gum out of his mouth onto the cement as he tightens and loosens the arm around Watson. John looks up at him with furrowed brows.

"What? It's only been two days." Does he want to find women? John was sure staying at the bar would have been the best way to do that.

"Chicken." John has determined that it must've been a direct result of the intoxication, but any man who can talk about chicken for an hour and a half was well disserving of the nickname Colonel. When Moran woke up on John's sofa the next day, it was with a headache and a nickname. The best part is that Moran doesn't remember the night, so he's at a complete loss.

**TDS: **Feedback is so important to me!


	2. Chapter 2

**TheDarkestShinobi: **This will, in no way shape or form be as long as aGOFS. I don't have the time for something like that. I think it may be around 8 chapters long, with another two or three on the military, two with Sherlock/Moriarty and 1-2 on the final bits. Enjoy!

**Start:**

"Bullseye!" Loverboy exclaims as he turns with his fists in the air. It wasn't a direct bullseye, but it was close enough to be considered one, definitely the closest of the night. The men around him laugh and cheer, with a few murmurs from the other men he just beat. Moran shakes his head from where he is standing. Loverboy quirks an eyebrow up as he holds the last dart out to him. Moran looks down at it before crossing his arms and widening his stance. Moran looks back up to Loverboy who tilts his head in a challenge.

Moran uncrosses his arms and Loverboy takes a step to the side so that he's not in the way. Moran doesn't take the knife or move forward to the strip of cloth that served as the throwing line. Instead, in one fluid and swift motion, he takes out his pocket knife and throws it. The knife sinks into the board in the red center. If they measured, Moran knows it would be perfectly center. The crowd of men cheered and laughed at Moran's success. Moran doesn't acknowledge their praise outwardly, but like it. He silently walks towards the board to retrieve his knife to the murmurs around him.

"Teach me." It is Watson's voice that silences the men a few seconds later, Moran turns to see him sitting at a table with a cup in his hand. Moran nods once with a smile as he takes his knife out leaving a sizeable hole. Moran had these skills, but he knew John had a plethora of hidden abilities.

"I'll trade you." John laughs and smiles as he lifts his cup and the gathering continues around them.

…

"There are civilians in that town." John holds his hands behind his back in a perfect parade rest as the American general pulls back from the map on the table.

"I'm well aware. We're not asking you to change your tactics or methods." The general tilts his head. "It seems you have gotten rather far."

"We have, and we will continue to move, but I'm not comfortable with civilians in the crossfire."

"Neither am I." Another Captain said and John is thankful for the support.

"We're at war, in case you forgot." John and the other looked down. "And I hate it, I'm ready to go home and not worry about the civilian blood we've spilt." He turned away from them. "But war is war, and it's worse than Hell." John looks up as he sees the other shake their head. "In Hell, only the evil are condemned." John looks down and swallows as the other straightens next to him.

"I am putting the English in charge." John blinks twice before looking up. "We need a stronger moral compass than my own this time, Watson. We'll follow your lead." John locks eyes with the general before nodding once.

"Dismissed."

It's been a year since Moran joined John's group but he can read John like he's known him for ages. When John arrives back everyone steers clear of him so Moran does the same, but Moran watches him because a quiet John is an unhappy one. Lock goes to help him but walks out later with a shake of his head and a pale face so Moran decides it's his turn.

"What happened?" Moran asks as he lifts the flap to John's tent. John looks up at him with narrowed eyes and fists held so tight they are white. John doesn't answer him immediately, or at all. Moran lets the flap fall behind him as he waits for an answer but he knows he's not going to get one without more prodding. Moran walks closer and John lifts a hand to point to the exit. Moran shakes his head and John's small shake informs him just what John thinks he should do with his words. Moran won't back down, not now. He lifts his hand to rest it on John's shoulder but freezes when a strong grip tightens around his wrist. He wants to wince.

"Don't touch me." Moran feels the grip tightening. "Get out." John growls out. Moran can already feel his hand starting to fall asleep so Moran pulls it back. John opens his hand to let him go but he leaves his open hand in the air after Moran moves back.

"I'm not leaving." Moran insists as he steps closer into John's personal space. John just wants to be left alone to simmer in his anger and let it slowly dissipate. John stands already in an aggressive stance. They lock eyes and Moran goes to touch him one more time to push him to do what Moran knows he needs too.

John's arms come up so quickly Moran misses it, but he feels himself being shoved back. He takes four steps back and is practically out of the tent. Moran steadies himself as he holds his arms out as a taunt and John shakes his head, completely mad, as he shoves Moran again. The both of them are out of the tent now and a few of the others watch them. John looks towards the rest of them before shaking his head and turning to walk back into his tent.

"No you don't, Johnny." Moran grabs Johns shoulder roughly, spinning him around and ducking the shove he knows is coming.

"Moran." And shit, Moran knows he's in trouble now, because John doesn't really use given names. Moran prays quickly to make it out of this before he stands fully.

"Come on Cap, you need to get this out."

"I was trying." John grits out and Moran scoffs, Loverboy takes a step back, Gator grins.

"Yeah, fires with teaspoons." John doesn't move, and Moran swears he can feel the anger rolling off of John in waves. "Hit me."

"No." This would be different from a spar. John wouldn't. He sighs and Moran shoves him.

"Fight me." John regains his footing and tilts his head.

"Seriously, I could have you sent home for that." John clenches both of his fists before relaxing them. "Leave me-" John cuts off his own sentence as he ducks to avoid Moran's swing.

"The fuck," John jumps to the left "crazy mother" John blocks with his arm and Moran lets his elbow bend to send an elbow towards John's face. John jerks his head before jumping back and settling into a stance.

The area around them circled up with people. John caught Moran's punch with his wrists and tilted them to make Moran come forward. He let out a sharp cry but John didn't stop. He continues and flips Moran over.

"That-ah-always gets me." Moran gets up, rubbing his wrist before kicking John in the chest then going for his face. John leans back to avoid it and brings his foot up in a kick as he lets momentum take his back to the ground. Moran takes a step back and shakes the hit off before rushing back in.

John doesn't kill him, but he doesn't show much mercy either. Moran knows he's going to be sore for days but he also knows that John needs this. Moran groans as John gets another jab in. John can't lie about this. He feels much better, the frustration is easing away and he feels like he can tell the group this without blowing his lid. John nods and misses a block, letting Moran's fist connect with his cheek. He curses but spins, using his foot as a hook to sweep Moran. Moran lets out a very surprised gasp that sounds like a squeal the boys would never let him live down. John falls on top of him before he can move. His hips land on Moran's stomach and one hand finds Moran's throat. John leaves most of his weight on his toes, still able to jump away if Moran is faster. His hand closes around the other's throat as the other hand is lifted high to punch.

Moran smirks before planting his hand in the sand and throwing his body sideways to dislodge John. It almost works, but John kept all his weight on his toes for a reason. John's hands find Moran's wrists and pins them to the sand. John lets his head hang as Moran taps the sand, the fight rushing out of him with his anger as Moran sends sand flying.

"As you know," John releases his hold on Moran's wrist but doesn't move from on top of the other "I met with the Americans to discuss further actions." Moran nods and the others come slightly closer. "We are heading into populated areas." Moran isn't affected by collateral damage in quite the same way, so he says nothing. Lock is the first to utter the c word, and everyone has a different level of acceptance.

"So what are we doing?" Moran asks as he moves his head back and forth to make the sand comfortable.

"I'm going to change our style a bit, but we have the okay to use the same tactics as before." Moran nods and John shakes his head before sitting up. Moran uses one hand to rub the other wrist and John shakes his head with a small smile. John gets up before offering Moran a hand.

…

"Yield! Yield! Surrender!" John freezes at the man sitting down with his hands straight up in the air. Next to him, Cheddar shrugs before making the man stand and searching him.

"He's clean."

"No." the man insisted. "liver. I live her." John furrowed his eyebrows.

"I think he means civilian." Cheddar responds and John looks towards the entrance.

"Bit obvious, that." John replied, trying to figure out what to do with him.

"Can we leave him here?" Cheddar turns away from him to face John who shakes his head.

"We could, but he could inform others." John twists his lip. "Maybe he can tell us where the soldiers are."

…

"That's a Civ," Moran observes as Cheddar pulls him forward.

"Live here." The man said as Cheddar continues to pull him. Moran looks to Cheddar.

"Speaks English?"

"Yep, a little bit, so John gave me permission to interrogate him."

"Alright." Moran was camped out next to the tent, so he heard the two go back and forth for a while. The man spoke very little, and even less of that made sense, but Moran only knew one language, so he couldn't complain.

Minutes later, he heard a whimper. Moran knew what Cheddar was doing, but he wasn't going to stop it. Not yet. Moran listened as Cheddar worked until Moran couldn't stand it anymore. It was collateral damage, but this was unnecessary.

"So C," he heard Cheddar start again. "I'm going to ask you few questions, if you can answer them, you get the gun." The man let out a sob and Moran had to walk away. Sure, the other was probably bluffing, John wouldn't let anyone get away with killing a civilian, but he still felt uneasy.

Minutes later, from his spot next to John, he hears a scream. John is running before Moran stands, but Moran's longer legs manage to catch up by the time John reached the tent with Cheddar, and by then it was far too late. Moran turns away, bile rising in his throat. John's initial response is rage, pure rage, and Moran never saw Cheddar again, no one brought it up in front of John and the only thing Gator says is dishonorably discharged.

…

"Where's the FNG?" John asks as he walks into the main tent, he spots an unfamiliar man, short, dark skinned and from what his record said, talented.

"Simon Dudley, sir." He stands and salutes and John is slightly shocked by it. He salutes back and walks forward. His record said he was 22, really fast and handy with a knife. He had a nickname in two weeks, those big brown eyes that got him almost anything he asked for had puppy written all over them.

"Puppy!"

"Sir?" John blinks to find the smaller man already at his side. John started walking towards the edge of their base and Simon followed him without question.

"We've been going from town to town here, as I'm sure you've noticed." This was only Dudley's first town, but the men seemed used to moving so he nods. "We've been working with an American group here, and they are supposed to be waiting for my orders." John continues, instructing Puppy on how to find their place and what he should say and do to get in and then giving him the message.

"Sir, yes, sir." He accepts at the end and John wonders how long before the green wears off of this one.

…

_Screams_

_Screams so vast and long he couldn't put sound to them, couldn't use letters to get a vague sense of them._

_Gunfire_

_**Now he's somewhere else**_

_Tanned skin children crying, their fathers lying in blood_

_He is there, gun in hand. It's still warm._

_**He's back**_

_The screams won't ever stop._

"John, wake up." John shoots out of bed and into Lock's waiting embrace. John is pale and shaking and panting.

"Shit, I-" John stops and Lock nods repeatedly, an endless loop of understanding.

"I know. You good?" Lock moves back and John shakes a bit before nodding.

"I will be." He states as he lets out a deep breath.

"It's the Americans," John hears a shout from outside, "they say we're in range of being attacked, get ready!" John's shaking stops as he pushes Lock towards the weapons.

**TDS: **Thanks for the love so far, please keep it up! As of now it is just going to be a BROTP. Hope you all will still enjoy it!


	3. Chapter 3

**TheDarkestShinobi: **Ran into a little bit of a writer's block for aGOFS. I'll get back to it as soon as I can; in the meantime, I have this story and one other I'm working on. Reviews are love!

**Start**

It's a new normal.

It's the only way John can describe what's happening.

As soon as they received the American's warning, they were attacked and separated, and now they are under heavy fire and hiding. It doesn't stop, ever. The group takes turns staying awake and protecting the building they had retreated into, or sleeping through the gunfire. Some of John's group is thriving; some are descending into demons of their own making. John's surviving and that's all he can ask for.

Three weeks in John stops counting the days they are trapped. He knows a majority of them haven't eaten in a few days, and the water they carried with them will be gone soon. The bullets are just about gone and John gets the sinking feeling he won't be making it back to Britain, and if he does, he won't be walking there. Still, he is not going down without giving this all he has and he knows it's the same for his boys.

"I'm going to need three men to grab empty sacs and come with me." Moran's the first to grab a mostly empty sac and empty it.

"What are we doing?" Lock whispers and Moran shrugs,

"Does it matter?" Gator asks Lock as he grabs another sack. When no one volunteers, Puppy takes another sack and tosses it on his back. Two seconds later John nods and turns to Lock.

"We're going to go back and bring supplies, try to radio the Americans, keep this up." Lock nods firmly before turning back around to the other men in the unit. John leaves the others to it as he runs around to the other side of the building. Moran is right behind him. Puppy is rounding the corner when he curses and clutches his arm. Gator brings up the rear and brings Puppy's arm away to see the wound.

"Puppy?"

"Just a graze, sir." Puppy responds with a small hiss and John shifts with Moran who draws his knife. John rips the sleeve just enough to see the wound. John shakes his head before grabbing the open space and pulling down, ripping the sleeve mostly off. Puppy looks to John and nods.

"It'll be a nasty scar and the pain won't fade until tonight."

"Do it, we don't know what the situation at camp is." Puppy looks away as John nods reaching for Puppy's sig. He points the gun into the distance and fires twice. Immediately after he brings the hot gun to the man's arm and Puppy lets out a small groan of pain.

"Ah, ungh." John pulls the gun away and Puppy brings his arm up to feel the burnt flesh, but it wasn't open and exposed anymore.

"Dudley?" John questions and the other nods before holding his hand out for his gun.

"I'm good, let's go." John accepts that answer and moves in front of Moran, who looks the wound over before nodding to Simon as if granting permission to keep going with them. Simon briefly smiles. John takes out his own pistol before letting out a breath.

…

There were a few soldiers occupying their base already and John crouches as he tries to figure out a game plan. He doesn't know how many people there are or where they are. He scans the area.

"Step back John," Moran instructs a minute later, "let me be your eyes." John looks back to Moran for a second before looking back across the way. He nods and rolls over. Moran takes his spot and proceeds to stop moving. Puppy fidgets and Gator shifts. John thinks back to the layout of their makeshift base.

"At least five." Moran curses. "Fucker on the roof has my gun."

"I've got a plan, how's the arm?" Puppy shakes it with a nod.

"Functional, sir." John nods before starting to explain.

…

Puppy leaves first, sprinting to radio at such a speed John wonders if cheetah isn't a better name. Colonel and Gator leave next, heading towards the main area and John leaves last. He is going to the highest area to take out their sniper. Puppy makes it unnoticed and lets out a sigh as he fumbles with the radio and tries to establish contact with the Americans. John lays flat against the building before checking for soldiers. After he decides it's clear, he starts up the stairs.

Moran makes the first move in the main area, and that is throwing his knife across the room to sink into the first soldier's throat. There is no scream, just a small gurgle before the soft thud. It is not soft enough, as Moran hears voices from above calling down. He runs for cover on one side of the entrance and sees Gator do the same. When the two come in Gator jumps out and wrestles the first for the gun. The man screams something at him, and Gator curses back, but it is clear neither understands each other. Finally, Gator pulls the gun away and squeezes the trigger firing a few shots into the second man.

The first man lunges towards Gator, but Moran steps in front of him and grabs his shoulders; he yanks down hard to drive him straight into his knee. Moran releases the shoulders and the man falls to the ground with wide eyes. Moran checks for a pulse and Gator carefully inspects the room. Moran closes the man's eyes as Gator shifts.

"It's clear."

"Let's head back towards the captain then." Moran takes a gun and his knife back before following Gator's lead over.

…

The sniper is sleeping on his post, so John decides to save the bullet and noise and pulls out his knife. Moran will be pissed that John got blood everywhere but he doesn't need to give everything away just yet. John straddles the form on the roof before lifting his head up, hand over his mouth, and slicing the jugular. The man woke and struggled for a fraction of a second, but John's hand prevents any noise from escaping and the man bleeds out onto the roof. John steps away and rises to stand after he is sure the other is dead.

John looks out over the roof as he takes a step back and nods once. John feels the knife cutting his side and moves away as he spins to face the attacker. He pays for letting his guard down as the man has also sliced his leg. The man lunges towards John and manages to slice his arm as well. John lets him, knowing the attack will put the other off balance. Once John knows the other stops he shoves as hard as he can to send the attacker off the building. He hears a groan but doesn't look as he has to dart for cover. He takes out his gun as he hears the bullets fly.

The second he stops to reload John leaves his cover and shots him twice, one to kill and one to be sure. He lets out a hiss as his arm starts to sting and listens out for another. Gator, who has reached the building, uses the butt of his gun to knock out the man John knocked off the building.

"The attack came in, we need support!" Puppy yells as he hears a voice answer him.

"we have some birdies in the area," the voice answers back and Puppy nods knowing they had flares over there.

"I want some birds in the sky." He says before nodding. "Make it rain!"

There is one more on the roof, and John sends a prayer up, because he hears the gun click behind him. He turns quickly and ducks but there are no bullets. The man shakes the gun and John has never been happier to see a gun jam. John rushes out and delivers a swift kick to the other man before using his sig and the distance to kill him.

"We are alone." Moran says as he approaches John and Gator. Puppy runs over to them and stops just before running into Moran.

"They Americans are coming in hot and heavy; they suggest we pull everyone out."

"Puppy, Gator, can you two run back and get everyone out? It's likely an airstrike. Moran, I need you on your gun and guard."

"Yes, sir." Puppy looks towards Gator who nods and the two of them start running the way they came.

"If anyone tries to follow them," Moran nods before John finishes his thought.

"Sand coffin; fires with teaspoons compared to an airstrike, though."

"I'm going to go to the radio tent." John kneels to search the man they knocked out before trying him up.

"What are we going to do with him?"

"I don't know, but it seems wrong to just kill him." Moran shrugs but John's made a decision, so he leaves it be.

…

"Thank you again for responding." John shakes the offered hand as the other nods.

"We should have been here sooner, no one thought a lack of response was crucial, idiots. I'm glad there weren't more casualties." John looks away and nods solemnly.

"We don't take POWs" John says as he crosses his arms. "We've never even had the chance to until now." The captain follows his gaze to see the unconscious man tied up. "He was thrown off a building, and then knocked out, it seems wrong to just kill him."

"We do." He shifts, "he'll be treated well, for a POW, and we have someone who speaks the language, hopefully they'll be willing to talk."

"Then I'll hand him over to you."

"It's what we call a crucible, Captain, make sure you come back stronger for it." John watches the other walk away and wonders if he is stronger for it, or if he's left weaker. The only thing he knows right now is that he is left bleeding, but that can be remedied and John sets to work as soon as he can.

John pulls the needle out as he hears Moran approach him. He tugs on it to make sure the stich is the right size. John nods in greeting as he puts the next stitch in his arm.

"Looks rough," Moran says and John pauses his work to shrug his good shoulder.

"Had worse," John dismisses and in his shirtless state, Moran can clearly see that.

"Need alcohol?" Some of the men took shots to dull the pain, being that John was both patient and doctor Moran's not sure if it would help, but he decides to offer anyway. That and John's just about done. John shakes his head and continues and Moran sits with him for another minute. John lifts his arm so that he can bite the edge of the thread after he knots the stitch.

"Let me." John shifts to see Moran take out his knife and John nods, thankful one of them had a knife. He pulls the thread taut so the knife cleanly cuts it close to the skin. Moran looks to the other side of his body, where the other two cuts lie.

"Do they need stitches too? There is a secondary medic here." Moran waves his hand about. _Somewhere._

"You should know doctors make the worst patients." John shakes his head as he moves his arm around, "besides, this was the deepest, the other two just need some cleaning." John uses his hands to shift his leg to look at the bleeding and frowns a bit. "They just hurt. Dirty knife. Should check for signs of infection…" Moran takes this time to leave, before he's subjected to half an hour of 'doctor speak'.

…

"It's quiet," John says to Puppy a few days later, his bandages making a noticeable indent in his clothes. Puppy nods with a small smile as he keeps watch.

"It's a good thing, right sir?" John nods absentmindedly as his fingers touch his palm. He releases his fist as soon as he notices it forms. He stitches seem to be too tight even though he knows they are not.

"Yeah," Puppy blinks twice before shifting, taking John in to see if he missed something, but he hasn't, he doesn't think. Puppy rests his head in his arms and John taps his shoulder. "You can go to bed, if you want, I won't be able to sleep anyway, and I might as well keep watch."

Later that night, when someone else takes watch, John decides to walk around camp before sitting outside the sleeping quarters.

…

"_Collateral damage." John says as pulls the bat back, letting it rest on his shoulders, the same easy smile on his face from when they chatted. Moran sees red and charges towards the captain. Hannis and Kevin hold him back._

"_Thanks Gator, Loverboy," John acknowledges as he pulls the gun out from behind his back. "So, Mrs. Moran," John turns his attention to the woman in the chair. "If you can answer my question you get the gun."_

Moran opens his eyes with a gasp and shoots up. His knife is too far away from him to grab so his hands come up as fists. He pants and then wipes the sweat from his brow as John looks up at him. Moran continues to take fast deep breaths as he looks away then back towards John. Nightmares. He feels his pulse slowly drop.

"I was wondering if you would get them." John remarks casually and Moran shakes his head before walking off. Nightmares? About what?

He had thought, at first, that it would bother him killing so many people, especially as a sniper. On the ground it is kill or be killed, but up there on the roof, he was never seen. His life was hardly in danger, he picked people off that had no idea he was there. It put him above them in a way. He was like the grim reaper. But the truth is he didn't get nervous or wonder about his morality because every guy he shot was going to kill his countrymen eventually, so he was cutting the head off of a snake before it bit. It's great. He does it again and again, because every person he kills can't kill one of his.

He'd kill until there was no one left to kill, until the war was over and he was done protecting his own, and he'd be damned if he was going to start getting nightmares about it now.

"I'll be back." He comments and John nods.

Moran never has a nightmare about this again; John's never stop.

**TDS: **thoughts!?


	4. Chapter 4

**TheDarkestShinobi: **Enjoy! Please review! And I threw in bits from aGOFS if you can spot it. Maybe I'll do one of those six sentence stories for the first person to review what they are. I like to keep my AU universes and backstory verses the same.

**Start**

No civilians in this area; thank goodness. Those were months John would erase if he could. Two more towns with the Americans before John received command to go in a different direction to meet up with British forces. There is one town between them, and they've taken a couple of buildings in this town already, so their temporary camp remains indoors; all except for Moran. Moran is still lying on the roof when John brings him food.

"I'm not hungry." He responds as soon as he smells it, sill not taking his eyes off of the scope. John can tell he's distracted him though, as Moran shifts slightly.

"I don't care; you haven't eaten in a day and a half." John scolds as he sits on the ledge, still holding the food.

"Busy." Moran responds a few seconds later. He's still in the scope. John sighs before looking out into the other part of town.

"Take a break." He orders, he can almost feel Moran rolling his eyes.

"You've given me high profile target to take out. I can't move. I could miss him." Moran explains and John nods. He had expected as much, still, Moran hadn't eaten in days and that needs to be rectified. It needed to be a one shot kill. The man had some information that needed to die with him.

"I could take watch." Moran huffs as if it's funny and John shakes his head. "I've shot a rifle before." His tone is defensive and raising.

"Maybe, but not like me." Moran's cockiness had never been attractive.

"Just eat!" John all but shouts and Moran sucks on the gum in his mouth. The two stay in silence for a minute before Moran drops his shoulders. John and Moran switch places and John gets comfortable lying on the roof as he looks through the scope. He props himself up on his elbows and watches for movement.

Moran, for all his complaint, was enjoying the break and sustenance. More than that, he was touched, no one bothered him before. John stills unnaturally and Moran watches as he chews.

"Moran," John says urgently as he sees movement. "Moran, take it." Moran's eyes are wide in disbelief and he practically throws himself on the roof. John rolls out of the way before turning to watch. John watches him inch forward with his foot and run his hand up the gun like a lover. John sits up and watches Moran's lip quirk up.

"Just like that," he whispers and John looks over to the building before back to Moran. "Come to the left." John waits with him for a few minutes, alternating what he stares at. Moran hasn't moved since he spoke before. Moran hums. "Not today?" John wants to move, but he can't risk breaking Moran's concentration again. Moran silences again and John wonders if this is how most days up here go. He is staring at the sand swirling around his feet when he hears the rifle go off.

He looks towards the building, as if he could possibly see what happened. Then, he watches Moran move the gun slightly, checking the situation with the scope. He stays there for another second before sitting up, half of a smile on his face. John nods and points to the remaining food causing Moran to laugh.

"Is this going to become a habit of yours?" Moran picks up the food and John nods.

"Probably." It should be.

"You're going to be the death of me," Moran jokes and John smiles before standing and clapping the Colonel on the shoulder.

"I'm going to get some sleep, you be good."

"Never."

…

The next time they are on the roof their topic drifts to their guns.

"So yeah, I'm going to miss my gun." Moran concludes as he runs his hand over it, never moving himself from the sight.

"It's like a part of me," John remarks looking at his and turning it over in his hand. "I can't take it back, even if She was okay with guns, a gun like this would never be okay." No safety, no way. "I wish I could though." Nothing makes him feel safer than his gun. Moran purses his lip in thought.

…

"They're not bad guys." Moran crosses his legs on the table. "I'm sure most of these guys are just like us, fighting for queen and country, loved ones, duty." John turns to face him; Moran can tell he's a bit skeptical. "It's just a matter of sides." Moran shrugs as John nods. "Actually, it's the side that's able to produce the best monsters, that's the one that wins. Worst part is we're going to go home one day and miss this." John knew Moran was referring to people like himself and what people called him behind his back. John knows, from their rooftop conversations, that he doesn't feel guilt so much as responsibility so it's odd to know he feels that way. John stands and taps Moran's shoulder.

"Get some sleep Colonel, you need it."

"Doctor's orders?" He looks up at the other who rolls his eyes.

"Yes, you git. Go to bed."

…

When Puppy gets shot in the chest, John rushes over to help. He knows there is nothing he can do for him though, and so he just holds his hand and tells him some embarrassing stories so that he is laughing when he goes.

"I did good though, right Captain?"

"Of course, Simon." Simon coughs.

"No," he wheezes "Call me Puppy."

"Yes, sir. Puppy, sir." John jokes.

It's the last one Puppy hears.

…

"Oh Captain, my Captain,"

Moran really likes poetry and he likes the dead poet's society so John wasn't surprised when Colonel first started this. It feels cool, if he were honest. He gave everybody a nickname, but no one thought to say anything to him other than John, Johnny, or Cap and Captain. This became as routine as John sitting up here had become. The Colonel pops a new piece of gum into his mouth.

"Hello to you too," John responds. It's their routine. Moran and John would engage in conversation and eventually Moran responds less and less, getting into 'sniper mode,' John waits until Moran doesn't answer him for half an hour then he nods and leaves him alone on the roof.

…

John had given the okay a few minutes ago, so the men were ready to start on Moran's shot. Moran fires two bullets, one to kill the target, and one to be sure. He searches the windows for other snipers before lowering his sights to the ones he could pluck off the ground. A few minutes of this and Moran knows they were now too close for any more help from him. He takes turns watching the others. It wasn't going well. He could spot two men down that were likely not going to get back up. The forces were a few miles away from the edge of this town, and by tonight they'd have reached them for solid reinforcements.

John is leaning over another's body, way too close for most men, but John has a job to do. There is a lot of blood, and even more displaced skin, but this is something he could patch up. He could save this man's life. It only took a few minutes.

"I'm sorry, Captain." Everyone seems to apologize to him when they get shot. John doesn't like it.

"No, no, you did fantastic." The man let out a moan of pain just as John expected.

"Come on now Brick, would you let the queen hear that?"

"No, sir." He laughs, small victories. "Will I live?" John nods; happy he doesn't have to lie to this one like the one before. Today is a bad day.

"Just make sure you apply pressure," He instructs and the man uses both his hands to press on either side of his side.

"You shouldn't, but if you feel sleepy stab yourself in the leg with this." John handed him a syringe and looked him over. Julian Miller would be going home after this, but at least he'd be alive.

"That will keep you." He smiled slightly "Thank you for your service."

"Wait, take her, she's not done yet. Keep her happy, Captain." Join was handed the automatic with ease and he nodded. Popping out of cover, he let a few rounds fly. John disappears behind a wall and Moran finds Kruger. Kruger is fine so Moran locates Loverboy who is having trouble. He uses the butt of his gun to hit the attacker and then kicks him hard enough he takes two steps back. It's all the space Moran needs to put a bullet in his heart.

There is a man behind the wall that surprises John. He brings a metal pipe down. John is fast enough to move, but not fast enough to dodge. The cry that rips from him sounds inhuman and the pain in his leg feel unbearable, but he is a soldier and he's not done yet. Moran tries to find John again and prepares to take the shot. John presses all his weight on his other foot and jabs the man with the back of the gun. Then he takes half a hop back and fires two shots into his chest.

He can't think properly with the jolts coming from his leg, but it can't be broken. Nerve damage, ligaments? Focus Watson. He opens his eyes and mouth as he arches when a stronger one rips through him before hobbling back into the street. Moran locks onto him with a sigh of relief. John can see an ambush waiting to happen, so he takes a deep breath and steels himself before setting up his power stance and firing on them first. His leg screams and he may have too, but he saved his men. That's all he cared to know.

Moran spots the ambush as John does and he lets bullets fly like he'll never run out. John's yell cuts off mid yell and Moran can't look away from them until the attackers are all dead. When he does, he locates John in a pool of blood.

No.

"JOHN!" He screams it, giving away his position, but it doesn't matter, the town is clear. And they've already lost too much.

_Oh captain,_

Moran abandons his spot and runs forward to try and get to John. He manages to run as fast as Puppy would have before he feels himself being pushed back.

"You're not a doctor Moran, leave it." Kruger urges as he pulls harder. Moran debates punching him, but he knows it wouldn't help in the long run. He feels another pair of arms on him.

"Do we have a medic?" He yells instead, still trying to get closer, but John's not moving, and that's an awful amount of blood.

_My Captain_

The secondary medic shoves Moran away and falls to hit knees to try and get the bleeding to stop. Everyone is stuck between getting closer to help and getting out of the way.

"Oh, God no." Moran hears himself say and its Kruger who pulls him into a hug. Moran doesn't return it. Moran stands as close as he can get without getting in the way, he knows all the places to hurt, all the ways to kill, but he knows nothing about fixing the messes.

_Don't be dead_

**TDS: **review! Remember, I'll give you a ficlet if you can review a similarity with this and aGOFS!


	5. Chapter 5

**TheDarkestShinobi:** Edited chapter three with a little more about Puppy and Moran. Enjoy!

**Start:**

Moran's not a doctor, he's far from it; but even he knows that someone getting shot, bleeding that much and then not waking up is a bad sign. A very bad sign. Moran carries him, because no one was comfortable leaving him, the few miles to the camp. He wishes for a brief moment that Puppy was still here because he would have been able to sprint ahead and get the camp ready for them. Brick was being carried by Kruger and another few were already ahead of them trying to get there.

By the time Moran arrived there were a few men waiting, each one with a red cross on the arm of their uniform. Moran hands John over as one tells him the danger of jostling the other around that much. Moran doesn't want to hear it and watches as they once again try to stop the bleeding. Their medic's gauze was already soaked and red. He never wanted to see so much of John's blood.

He stands and watches for as long as they work. His body stilling by habit as it does on the rooftop, his focus is the nasty wound that won't stop bleeding! They're doctors goddamn it! Why can't they stop the bleeding? John would be able to stop that bleeding. Soon enough he recognizes the blades of a helicopter coming closer. The loud noise pulls him away from his trance and he shifts slightly to see it coming closer.

"… good work on him, he'll be fine with a little bit of recovery time and proper stiches." Moran tunes into Brick's doctor. The helicopter is for them and even as Moran watches John and Brick get loaded into the copter he feels like they were doing nothing for the man who's done so much. Moran watches on of the doctors run towards him with a small med kit. Moran turns to step to the side so the other could pass and is surprised when the doctor stops.

"Were you shot?" The doctor is tall and dark, with a bit of a beard growing in. He's more muscular than Moran and motions to his shirt. Moran narrows his eyes in confusion but he starts to feel what he tuned out before. It is wet, a hot wet that would only belong to one liquid. It could only belong to one person.

He feels sick and closes his eyes as he shakes his head. Still, when he opens them, he looks to confirm that there is indeed blood over his shoulder. There is. Too much blood if you ask him, it did look like he got shot. The doctor nods and asks if he's okay, physically he is. He turns and walks away as the helicopter takes off and starts walking downwind. When he catches the smell of John's blood, Moran, for the first time in years, pukes his guts out.

…

When Moran asks the status of Brick and John, it is in front of Kruger and Gator. The doctor he asks, a short plump man (as plump as you could get on an army lifestyle) looks away for a moment before shaking his head.

"Julian Miller is fine, he's in stable condition." Kruger nods with a sigh of relief. "The Captain is not. Last I heard he fell into a coma induced shock." Moran hisses and another doctor comes over, an apologetic look on his face. Moran doesn't want to hear it.

"I was told Watson didn't make it." Moran freezes, unsure how to process this. He had never taken death well; his father's still left a hole in him. His best friend, now, he didn't know what he was going to do. Gator turns and hits the wall a few times. Kruger's relief has lessened and he shakes his head.

…

The group gets a visit from a general the following day, he congratulates them all on their success but no one feels much like celebrating. By now, everyone had heard about John's death. Moran hadn't spoken a word since he found out and most of them were grieving in their own way. Watson had been on the team the longest and everyone felt like he was a watchful older brother.

The general introduces two new men, Moran doesn't care to learn or remember their names. The first is their new doctor, and the second is their new captain. Moran is sure everyone notices John needed two men to replace him. Still, they couldn't hope to be good enough. Their new captain doesn't understand their nicknames and eventually they don't even use them anymore. Their new doctor doesn't really leave his tent; Moran doesn't even know his face. The absence of their captain is palpable in the air, and all of the other groups seem to walk on eggshells with them. Moran hates it.

When Moran snaps at someone, he's told it'll get better. He won't hold his breath.

…

Moran looks at the picture in his hand memorizing all the target's features. He rolls his neck and pulls out a new piece of gum as he tilts the picture trying to get a better look at the scar on his face. He is still eerily silent and Captain Matthews looks between the man and the picture for a few minutes before speaking.

"I've heard a lot about you." He says and Moran can't tell if he means it in a good or bad way, he also doesn't really care, he's got a few more months of service left and he can reenlist in another place. Moran doesn't say anything back to him and Matthews sighs. One of the things he had heard about the man was his tendency to not talk back. He was told Moran was the Grim Reaper, the silent death and he wasn't to do much with him besides giving targets and pats on the back. Recently, he's heard from the team that Moran and Watson had a special relationship, with jokes and laughs and that John had become part of Moran's routine. Matthews did not want to replace the other, but he had to fill his shoes and they were some pretty big shoes to fill.

"I was also told that he used to sit up there with you for a few hours." Moran puts down the picture and just looks at Matthews. "I could; if it helps you." Moran shakes his head as he walks out and climbs onto the roof. There is no target, but he finds comfort in the familiarity of the night. He looks up into the starry night and narrows his eyes at it.

"Guess I'll do the talking this time," he says to no one an hour later. "I know I killed the fucker who ki-got you," he shakes his head "but I want to make every bastard out here pay for it." He shifts again before sitting on the ledge.

"It fucking sucks." He says a minute later.

"This new Captain ain't you." He says after a couple more.

"Never will be." He continues about 20 minutes later.

"I miss you." He admits as the sun rises.

…

"You can't keep hurting civilians Moran."

"I'm going to report you for cruelty towards civilians if this keeps up."

"It's not going to bring him back. I'm going to request a transfer for you. I didn't realize it would be this hard on you."

…

"He woke up." Moran tilts his head and narrows his eyes in confusion as Loverboy grins. Moran crosses his arm as Loverboy sits next to him, "the Captain." Loverboy nods as Moran holds a hand to his face, letting it come down a second later.

"What?"

"The Captain," and he says it in a way that no one could mistake who he is talking about. "He was in a coma, but he woke up!" Moran can't help the smile that comes to his face.

"John?" It feels so good to say his name again and Loverboy slaps his knee before running over to two others. Moran jumps to his feet to spread the good news as well. That night, they did celebrate.

Moran has leave in a few days, and it's only for a few, but he already has it all planned out. He sends a text to John the second he is off the plane.

_I'm back. Hit me up._

John doesn't, and Moran realizes waking up doesn't mean he's back, not yet. Still, he has the perfect idea for a Christmas present.

…

Useless.

John feels that way about both his leg and his life. What did he have left to give? His hand won't stop shaking and his leg won't stop hurting, he could not be a doctor, he could not be a soldier.

He couldn't be anything.

"You just wrote trust issues."

"And you read my writing upside down."

_Trust me, Captain. Let me do this_

He didn't have problems with trust. He had problems with her. She brings up the blog and it's so mundane that he wants to leave.

"Nothing happens to me." Not anymore, too much happened to him for anything else to now.

…

John's therapy goes well and he can use his left arm and hard well. When he tells her, she smiles in a polite way that doesn't reach her eyes.

"You've realized it then." John has an inkling of what she's talking about. He's not totally useless. "But it's not true." John tilts his head at that and she continues. "You're afraid you're still dangerous." He wasn't. John's eyes narrow. "but you're not." She is trying to calm him, but he gets angry. He could be dangerous if he wanted. He stands and storms out and she notices he doesn't use his can until he reaches the steps.

…

John grabs his cane as the doorbell rings. He's not expecting anyone and can't help but feel wary. It's the mailman, he's holding a green box with red string and John hopes it is not from the mailman because he didn't get him anything.

John is relieved when it isn't. He closes the curtain and inspects it, but it doesn't appear to be anything dangerous. He finally pulls the bow undone and removes the top. It's truly Christmas and John smiles for the first time in a long time to see his sig with a full magazine and box of bullets. Underneath it was a small card, maybe two inches by two inches. On it was a single word, printed.

_Colonel_

…

"…can't afford London on an Army pension." He lies with ease. He came home with quite a fat bank account, tax free combat and hazard pay, allowances and other bonus meant a good chunk of money. He was getting disability; pension wouldn't be for a while now. Doesn't matter, Mike wouldn't know.

He really wants a flat share because he can't afford to be alone, not with his limp or state. He needs to meet someone and develop some sort of routine.

Moran was right.

He missed it.


	6. Chapter 6

**TheDarkestShinobi: **Two chapters after this! I hope you all enjoy this! I can't believe it's almost over, it feels like I just started this! Okay, so I couldn't help some dialogue that may seem Johnlocky or like Moran and John had something, but it's not more subtext than the damn show has so you can ignore it or may not even notice it. Anyway, reviews are love!

**Start: **

When John meets Sherlock, he isn't quite sure what to make of him. He's crazy, surely, but equally brilliant. That's inaccurate. Sherlock's totally brilliant with a dash of mad. John feels like he's dancing on a rush the entire time they are together. He's lucky, because he didn't think he would be able to find this on this continent. Sherlock is the type of man that's perfect for John in so many ways.

When he moves in with the man, he wonders if he isn't the crazy one.

When John is kidnapped by Mycroft, he can't believe the absurdity. He knows he'll never be bored with Sherlock now. He mentions the war and John can't help the surge of adrenaline in his veins, nor the happiness that came with it. It would be his own war on criminals in London. Not useless. He's still able to be a soldier. He'd have his comrades here, in a DI and a Consulting Detective. He could do it. He would do it. John Watson is a survivor and he's finally been given the tools and people he needs to survive.

"Your left hand…" He lifts it and lets the other tilt it as if looking for evidence. John was planning on firing his therapist anyway but the other man agreeing is just something else against her. Trust issues she said, and then she'd gone and told this man about his session. He listens as the other man talks. His tremors, his reason for not being a doctor, are gone. As the man lets his hand go it doesn't shake.

It doesn't shake in the school when he pulls out his gun either. Sherlock does not hear John calling him, so John waits and watches, because Sherlock is brilliant and this could all be a part of some plan. He watches before deciding Sherlock is, indeed, in danger and aiming his gun. He pauses, not to aim, but to decide. Not an instant kill, Sherlock might need more information, but one that would bleed out in about a minute. It would be perfect for the situation. As soon as he feels the gun recoil he drops to the floor, knowing Sherlock would look for the killer instinctively. Seconds later, John peeks up to see Sherlock standing over the other, so he retreats and picks up the phone sounding scared when Lestrade calls him back.

John stashes his gun, because there is no way he is tossing his sig, not after just getting it back. Then he runs and John acts as if he has just gotten here, out of breath and worried. He doesn't get a second look; not from Donavan and not from Lestrade. As Donavan fills him in John acts perfectly: slight awe and fear, lots of concern and gratefulness that the situation is over. When Sally walks away John feels the tingles in his toes. No one suspects him of anything. He has just gotten away with murder. It wasn't the murder of a good man, but it was still murder on the queen's soil. John thinks back to his therapist as he sees Sherlock draped in an orange blanket. He isn't afraid he's still dangerous, he knows it and for some wonderful terrible reason, he loves it. He loves the reminder.

John doesn't know why, but he doesn't want to give himself away to Sherlock just yet. He knows Sherlock wouldn't turn him in, especially since John has just saved his life, but he couldn't shake the feeling. When Sherlock's gaze finds him John smiles in an innocent manner, Sherlock stands immediately afterwards. John wonders what he saw. Maybe he's deduced it. John wouldn't put it past him. When Sherlock walks up to him and asks him about the shot, John plays his part until, with a tilt of the head and a few words Sherlock tells him that he knows and that John is safe from being turned in by him. John laughs at the opportunity for dinner because this is perfect in so many ways that he can't believe it. If he wakes up tomorrow and finds out this is a dream, it would be his best to date.

And that's before John notices his limp is permanently gone.

…

John lifts his phone and Sherlock watches before turning to his phone to make sure Lestrade hadn't texted him first. John smiles at the message and Sherlock places his phone down before collapsing against the couch.

"Bored." John's not paying attention to him though.

_Still by that pub? –Moran_

**Closer now, in fact. I'm on Baker Street. -JW**

John sets up plans with Moran as Sherlock starts to pace around the flat. Hours later, a caseless Sherlock Holmes retires to his bedroom. John's not sure why, they both know he's not going to sleep at all, but he doesn't question it as he leaves the flat to head out to the pub. Moran looks the same as ever, and John is suddenly self-conscious about the pounds he's put on and the muscle he's lost. Moran shakes his head and smiles as he motions to the two beers.

"Looking good, Johnny." Moran opens and John's not sure how to take that, but he drinks as he decides Moran isn't making fun of him. Not yet, at least. The two catch up for a bit and they are a few beers in when John's giggling kicks in.

"Not this again!" Moran whines as John's giggles grow louder.

"Shut up, Colonel. You're the one who wanted to go drinking." Moran sighed before smiling mischievously. Neither of them is drunk, but this solid level of tipsy could get him some answers.

"Why am I colonel?" John sits up straighter and blinks a few times.

"Because I said you were." Moran shakes his head

"I know that, but _why_ did you decide that?" John knows what Moran wants and decides to give it to him, so he leans closer. Moran leans in too, eager for the secret and John looks around to make sure no one was watching.

"Chicken." Moran's eyebrows draw together in confusion and John laughs as he rights himself. Moran shakes his head and John leans over the bar to try and slow down his laughs enough to breathe. He missed this.

"That makes no sense." Moran finally groans and John smirks.

"It does, but I'm not telling you anything else. No one knows why I gave them their nicknames."

"Oh, Come on, Gator? Buzz?" Moran almost says Puppy, but he's not sure if that's a soft spot for John or not.

"Well, some were more obvious than others." John cedes and Moran knows Puppy came to mind because John pushes away his drink and appears to sober up. Moran finishes his and slides his card across the table to pay the tab.

"You don't have to, Colonel…" John reaches for his wallet but Moran holds out a hand to stop him. John stops moving and Moran smiles.

"I found work, a really great job." He pauses. "I'd like to bring you on." John smiles and considers it for a moment. "I found someone who's looking for people like us." John licks his lips, sounds appealing. "He appreciates our talents."

_You're afraid you're still dangerous._

John remembers his new crazy roommate and shakes his head.

"I think I found someone-something really." He says instead of the 'yes' that was on his lips a moment ago. Sherlock was someone good for him and these cases brought John to life in a way he hadn't felt in a very long time.

"If it doesn't work," Moran waves a business card in the air and John wraps his hand around it. Moran lets go and John looks at it. "I've got something better." John purses his lips as he looks at the card. He'd consider it. "Promise." When John gets home, Sherlock is playing the violin and looking out the window.

"You should take the job; Sebastian thinks it's a great fit." Sherlock opens and John laughs because of course Sherlock would know. With that thought he tosses his coat onto the couch as he goes for some water to dilute the alcohol in his blood. Just like that the number and other job are forgotten.

…

John shakes his head as he walks down the street. Mistake? Caring for other people is a mistake? He huffs as he tucks his hands into his pocket. It's Sherlock. He hurries across the street and shakes his head again in anger. Unbelievable. Sherlock is definitely the most brilliant man he's ever met, but he is also the most insufferable git John's ever had the pleasure of meeting

John stops as he notices his shadow. No, correction shadows. There are three people following him. He increases his pace and ducks into an alleyway so narrow that their numbers wouldn't be a threat. He takes a swing at the first.

It smells like chlorine. John groans as he opens his eyes. His head is pounding and he lifts his hands to his head, or he would've had they not been bound together behind his back. He opens his eyes to see Jim in front of him. He furrows his eyebrows in confusion as his fingers start to untie the knot between his hands. He looks the man over and yes, that's Molly's boyfriend sitting in front of him. John lets out a breath as he looks around, not catching up to the situation.

"Jim?"

"You remember me, Johnny boy?" Yes, but just a bit differently than this. John is silent. Moriarty can read the story and thoughts on his face. He was full of expressions. "Jim Moriarty," Moriarty introduces as he leans back in his chair with disapproval. John's eyes widen as he tries harder to untie the knot, no telling what Moriarty will do to him. Molly was dating the criminal mastermind, he couldn't quite believe it.

"Moriarty?" Moriarty asks aloud, "Moriarty from the games? From the cabbie?" John doesn't answer him; Moriarty's look shifts to approval as he smiles a bit. "Nice work on that by the way." John looks away at the implication. "Although I wouldn't be too terribly hurt if you didn't know me, after all, I was only interested in Sherlock myself." John is almost done with the rope.

"I can almost see it."

"See what?" John asks as he tugs the last bit out of the knot.

"You're interesting." John doesn't do anything yet. "And you were before you knocked out three of my men."

"I'm about to get better." John growls as he frees himself from the rope.

"Are you?" Jim sounds genuinely curious.

"Yeah," John stands up and takes a step towards Moriarty. Moriarty grins

"Moran?" He calls with a relaxed air and John turns to see Sebastian Moran and not someone with the same name, his Moran.

"Captain?" John can hear the disbelief. He sighs.

"Ah, Colonel, this was your something better?" He waves his hand around and Moran rubs his hand over his forehead.

"Damn it, Johnny." Moriarty tilts his head watching the two. Johnny?

"You know, the funny part is I can't tell who's made a more dangerous ally." 'Johnny' says and Moran laughs. Moriarty seems amused. Moran was usually so very reserved.

"You could both be mine." John stops and Moriarty knows in his look that he had seriously considered Moran's offer from before. Moran nods with a smile but Jim already knows his answer.

"We could. We'd be back on the same side." Moran sounds hopeful.

"You know I can't." John looks broken. Moriarty's gaze shifts to Moran.

"Shame." Moriarty says. Moran frowns pulling up his hands.

"Fine. So we gonna do this or?" John shakes his head and puts his hands straight up.

"No, no need to get my head smashed in before the battle. You're obviously not alone."

"What gave it away?" Jim asks and John snorts as Moran shakes his head.

…

"The trigger won't blow." Moran suddenly says and John blinks before furrowing his eyebrows.

"What?" Moran glances around.

"The detonator won't set it off, should it come to that. Make sure you get it off and run."

"You know, you don't have to be on his side either." John says gently and Moran shakes his head.

"It's more fun, besides, you're probably the only one I'd have a problem killing." He replies with honesty and John feels the blood in his veins heat.

"**Don't.**" Moran shrugs, John glares. "You kill Sherlock and I'll be coming for you." Moran knows, reputations aside, that if John Watson was after him, he'd be better off dead.

"I know Captain; let's do our best to both remain alive."

…

Both remain alive. Ha! Pipe dream at best. John lunges towards Moriarty and gives Sherlock the chance to run and save himself. If any of them were going to die or be subjected to Moriarty it would be him.

"OOPS!" Moriarty yells and John watches the red dot appear on Sherlock.

_Laser sight's not for sight, Johnny. It's to send a message. Look at my power, look what I can do with my toy. Behave._

"COLONEL!" John yells as he tightens his grip on the criminal. Sherlock bites his lip as he watches.

"Not me!" Moran yells back, his voice echoing off the walls. Moriarty can't help but to rolls his eyes.

**TDS: **Review!


	7. Chapter 7

**TheDarkestshinobi: **I give up! The subtext is what it is. Infer what you will about John and Moran and John and Sherlock. I've liked this story, loved it, and do like most of this chapter, but the last bit just had to be done over and over so eh. Next chapter is the end and I have an alternate ending!

Thoughts!?

**Start**

Moran is not a nice man. He was a machine when he needed to be and that was all people had wanted him to be until John. He killed. He killed and killed and had no problem with it because it was saving his own. When he lost John his machine-like tendencies came back. Only that time, they were unwanted.

_It's not going to bring him back. I'm going to request a transfer for you. I didn't realize it would be this hard on you._

It all ended with a civilian on a roof, just like it would today. It's funny how life works sometimes.

John hops out of a cab and Moran curses the fact that John is such a good man and an even better friend. Moran shakes his head as John lifts the phone to his ear. How dare Sherlock become friends with John like this? How dare he put John in danger? How is John safer getting shot at overseas than running around London with the detective? Moran hates that John choses the one person Moriarty would want to burn and that John himself has become a stick in the fire. The burn of the desert and the burn of a bullet would be nothing compared to the burn from a spider's bite.

_I was told Watson didn't make it._

Moran continues to watch John and can't help but think _wouldn't it be better if he hadn't?_ He wouldn't be in this mess, Moran wouldn't be watching him through a scope. Damn it! John was never supposed to be on that side of the scope. He was supposed to be right next to him, making jokes and bringing him food.

"_And John Watson will be yours."_

"_No," Moran growled. "I told you I didn't want to be involved with this job. At least give me the lady or the cop." Moriarty tilted his head with a small smile._

"_John Watson." Moriarty repeated. He smiled. "It would teach you not to care." Moran clenched his fist. Moriarty's mouth flattened. "Think of it as a test." Moriarty suddenly grinned. "Let's hope you get an A!" Moriarty walks away and stops at the door, showing Moran his back. Moran could snap the damn spider in two. "And don't try to pull a stunt like the one at the pool." Moran stiffens at the cold tone and its message. This is punishment. "There will be a second man on the doctor, one who doesn't care about him. One that would make it so" Moriarty waved his hand around in the air as he pretended to search for the right word. "Painless."_

Painless.

That's what he could give to his Captain. He follows John's movements through the scope. He can't stop John from dying; only Sherlock can. Moran is tempted to put a bullet in the detective just to stop all of this from going down. Both John and Moriarty would say no to that idea. Instead, Moran has to sit and wait for all of this to play out.

Moran can't sit still. He tells himself it's because he's on stairs, but the case with Hernandez was also on stairs, and he sat for 6 hours straight. His leg bounces and his hands keep getting cold.

He is shaking.

No.

Focus.

Painless.

That's what he would offer his friend. If Sherlock decides not to jump, Moran would have to pull the trigger. He would go for the head, because he couldn't bring himself to think of ripping apart John's heart. He couldn't. It would be quick. John wouldn't know it was coming. It wouldn't be as painful as his last gunshot wound.

Sherlock jumps.

Moran has seen lots of men die, both friend and foe, and Sherlock dies much the same. The only thing that is different is John. John is not the healer. John is not the killer. John is the family weeping. Moran sags as he watches the captain because he has never seen John lose it before. He's not the grieving family. He's the widow that needs to be dragged away. Moran lets out a shaking breath and wonders if the bullet in his brain wasn't the best option. He may not have fired a single bullet but he watches John's heart rip apart through a sniper scope.

Moran can't contain his joy at finding out his boss took a bullet to the brain.

He can't help but the shoot him again to be sure.

…

John grieves without tears and Moran knows that hurts more than weeping. He waits until he can't wait anymore. When John goes out to drink destructively, again, Moran can't help but think of the man's sister and how he needs to intervene. He walks out in the open, being seen and heard so as to not be a threat, and he isn't. Now that Sherlock is dead and Moriarty is dead there is no reason they can't be on the same side again. When he clears his throat and John turns around he expects to be punched. John sees red, Moran is sure, and the man who had been trudging slowly takes a quick step forward.

"No, NO!" John yells, belts it, and Moran braves stepping forward as onlookers curiously watch. "You stay away from me!" Johns thrust a finger in his direction and Moran's half step forward seems to be the catalyst.

"Wait." He pleads but John wasn't their previous captain for nothing. Moran moves to block but takes three punches before he can block one. He pulls back slightly before punching John in his bad shoulder. John cries out and steps back and Moran notices the crowd has grown. Moran wonders if anyone is calling the cops. Moran takes two steps back. John glares ice and fire at him and Moran really hopes he's not carrying around the sig he gave him. This would not be the time to die.

"I told you what I'd do." John's demeanor changes from irrational anger to murderous rage; Moran throws his hands in the air.

"I had nothing to with that," he lied, "I told Moriarty I didn't want to have anything to do with you," truth "just have a drink with me captain, we both could use one." True.

John goes to respond but then turns and walks into the pub.

It's as much of an invitation as he's going to get so Moran follows and sits next to him. They sit in silence for two beers before Moran sighs and taps the bar to get John's attention. John turns in his seat to look over and places his mug on the bar. Moran looks down as he closes his eyes. He purses his lips before looking up at John. John turns more towards him and Moran lets out a breath.

"I thought you'd be taller." He doesn't get a smile in response this time. John furrows his brow in confusion before looking back at the bar. Moran shakes his head and silently berates himself. He is yelling at himself so loudly he almost misses John's whisper.

"So, you can talk." Moran smiles and John grips his mug tighter for support. This is good, isn't it? Starting over. That's what Col-Moran is hoping for. "Most people think I'm taller," John pauses and he leaves his mouth open for a fraction too long.

_I've taken the precaution of a good coat and a short friend._

"It seems I've built up a reputation." Moran takes the end of John's line and John finally looks back at Moran.

_Why would I care what they think?_

Moran's not asking for forgiveness; he knows it's something John can't give to him. He's asking for friendship; or at least a new chance for one. John doesn't know if he can offer it yet, but he feels better now that Moran is here. He's always felt better with the sniper. John finishes his beer and even though it's long past the appropriate time to respond he does.

"I know a bit about that." And John does. He knows how hard it is to adjust after the war. He knows how easy it would have been to fall into the criminal's web. He almost did. "And I know how to make a decent living." John stares at Moran until Moran nods. Could he give it up to make up this debacle to John?

"Teach me." Moran looks away and grabs the bill. He's just got paid 10 million for that last job, 20 pounds is nothing.

…

_How did it go, Moran?_

_Apparently, May is the middle of training season. –M_

_Oh? -JW_

_And I'm now a shooting instructor –M_

_That's good. Isn't it?-JW_

_No one is able to shoot here! –M_

_So be a good instructor and show them –JW_

…

It's awkward for months and Moran never gets over the fact that John still visits Sherlock's grave frequently.

_Lunch sounds good, Seb -JW_

Or the fact that he's no longer the Colonel.

…

_Have you gotten the flu shot? I swear I've done 500 today. –JW_

_Actually on my way to get one now. –M_

_Great. My job is done here. -JW_

…

It's sad how quickly habits come back, even co-dependence.

…

_Happy New Year_

…

There is some good.

…

_Dinner? -M_

_Starting to think I shouldn't be going out with a bloke all the time, what would people say? –JW_

_Ha! Well, call me Mary then. –M_

_You're an idiot. -JW_

_Then I'm YOUR idiot. See you at Hef's. -M_

…

Both of them are okay with it-this; whatever it is that they have.

…

_Want to grab dinner? –M_

_Be working late, people don't seem to remember its Autumn -JW_

_So a late dinner. Chicken? –M_

_I'm laughing too hard –JW_

_Why? –M_

_It's the bloody chicken thing! -M_

_See you later, Colonel.-JW _

Moran can't be mad. This is a very great thing.

…

_Sherlock is alive. _

Moran throws his phone. It chimes again.

_Finish the job._

…

"Black car," John says aloud as an attractive woman steps out. He smiles widely and she smiles back.

"Hello," She greets and he parrots it back. "Do you have any plans for tonight?"

"None that Mycroft would approve of I'm sure." He glances at the backseat. It's been too long to remember, but it still has a very Mycroft feeling about it. There is no use in saying no. "Can you tell me anything?" He asks as he walks to the door and she shakes her head.

"Nothing at all." Her smile reminds him of the woman who took him to Irene, so he pauses long enough for her to frown.

"This is Mycroft, right?" She nods with a smile and he smiles back. She looks to her phone.

"Bring your gun." John freezes.

"I don't have a gun." Her look tells him they both know better.

"Right." She smiles again. "I won't tell." He mumbles to himself and the only word she catches is 'surprises'

…

"I have to say I'm surprised." John walks forward into the living room. "A house isn't like our usual meetings;" even if it's huge. He stops when he sees Mycroft and frowns. "Why am I here?" he pauses painfully. "It's been years."

"I need you to put your gun on the table behind me." John rolls his eyes.

"Hello to you, too," he mutters as he does before standing back in the middle of the room.

"You might want to sit down,"

"I'm good." John tilts his head and Mycroft lets out a breath.

"Sit down." Mycroft repeats with a tilt of his and the two stare at each other until John cedes and sits, waiting for the reason for his visit to become apparent. Mycroft takes a deep breath before letting it out. "You may as well come out now."

John narrows his eyes briefly before gazing to the corners and trying to see who it was. Sherlock leans against the wall with closed eyes. He was fine and ready until he heard John's voice. He knew John would forgive him because John had to but still, there is a nagging in his head. What if John isn't okay? What if this isn't all fine? What if John never wanted him back?

"Now." John can't be sitting for this, so he leans forward onto his toes. He feels his heart swell, even though he knows all the different reasons why it would and this wasn't one of them. He subconsciously checks his racing pulse. Finally, with a spin and step, they see each other for the first time in years.

"You were dead." John says as he stands. He wants to walk forward but he feels like it is all fake; a mind game. Sherlock opens his mouth to talk and Mycroft takes a step back. After a second Sherlock closes his mouth and John shakes his head, a hundred thoughts racing in his head. There are suddenly a hundred voices in his head telling him what to do.

"Sod this." He growls before taking the quick steps towards Sherlock. Sherlock braces himself for the tackle or the fist or the rejection, but not the hug. Sherlock lets out a breath that sounds more like a sob as he wraps his arms tightly around the other. John's fingers dig into Sherlock's shoulder blades as he lets out a deep breath.

"John, I," and Sherlock's voice is softer than John has ever heard.

"How did you survive?" John pulls back. Sherlock lets a corner of his mouth tilt up before beginning his explanation but John cuts him off. "Why did you ju-jesus." John turns away and Sherlock's face falls. "You lied to me."

"John, it-"

"I buried you!" John yells and it echoes in the hall, Sherlock flinches. "I-" but John can't finish his thought because of his heaving breaths. He closes his eyes before shaking his head and Sherlock knows his fears are true. He's done too much.

"I'm leaving." John announces as he turns and Sherlock doesn't have anything to say to stop him.

"I'm afraid you can't." Mycroft chimes in and Sherlock looks over to him as John stops walking away.

"Why not?" John doesn't turn to face them, and Sherlock takes this as the insult it was meant to be. Mycroft seems unaffected by this and continues.

"Because there is an assassin after you." John turns, a perfect 180, and wets his lips with his tongue. Sherlock looks down before looking back to John.

"You asked me why I jumped." Sherlock feels like it's harder to breathe now. All that useless sentiment in his head is getting in his way. Yet, this would all be worth it if John's forgiveness and friendship were at the end.

"You said there is an assassin after me?" John interrupts Sherlock's explanation and Mycroft steps in again.

"Sebastian Moran, one of-"

"Moran." John repeats as he rubs his forehead. He can feel the rage in him building but he doesn't know who it is for.

"He is a dangerous man." Sherlock speaks up, gaining confidence. This isn't for him, it is for John. John needs to know the danger he is in. "He has been quiet for years now, but he is dangerous. He is possibly the most dangerous man in London." John wants to laugh. He wants to bash somebody's head in. "When I did meet him, back when Moriarty was alive, I couldn't read him; he's not like other people I've met." John wonders which part Sherlock didn't understand.

"He's someone you couldn't possibly understand." John bites and Sherlock narrows his eyes in thought, had John met Moran?

"He's quite the lunatic." Mycroft inputs, remembering the military file he had been able to find. Roaming contract. Civilian cruelty.

"He's what we needed out there; for war." At this point Sherlock nods.

"You knew him." He deduces but is unheard over his brother.

"Perhaps he should have died out there." Mycroft comments and Sherlock immediately knows this is a bad move. John is furious.

"No." John is firm. "You don't get to make monsters to fight your wars and hope they stay there, we're all monsters out there." _John straddles the form on the roof before lifting his head up, hand over his mouth, and slicing the jugular._ "We have to be."_ John sends a prayer up, because he hears the gun click behind him. _"When we can't adjust, it's your fault as much as ours."_ You're afraid you're still dangerous. _"You've turned brothers against each other, making us pick sides." _I've got something better_ "It could have just as easily have been me that didn't have a place to go to and turned to crime," _Sebastian thinks it's a great fit _"so don't talk about him like that!_" _Mycroft is in stunned silence and Sherlock speaks.

"I should've known you'd known Moran before."

"What?" Is that all Sherlock took from that?

"That night at the pool, you called a sniper out by name." Not by Moran, but a nickname.

"He did serve in the Fusiliers; I didn't realize he was under you." Mycroft chimes in.

"We were close." John shifts slightly, Mycroft notices.

"Really?"

"So close, in fact," John is getting loud again, "that I could have drawn him out into the open with a single text! But no, you Holmes are too good for common folk like me!"

Mycroft picks up the gun on the table and John holds his hand out for it. Mycroft doesn't look inclined to return it.

"It doesn't have a safety." Mycroft's face changes and he hands the gun over immediately. John turns to Sherlock with it in his hand, still angry. "And how did you think I got my sig? I came back to England under a shock induced coma. They thought I was going to die. My team was told I did. Do you think I managed to sneak a weapon back under those conditions? Did you think any law would be okay with me having a gun while going to therapy?" Mycroft looks to Sherlock with a single shouldered shrug.

"What can I expect?" Mycroft looks at the sig before back to John.

"War." John replies in a flat tone. He's equal parts anger and bitter now. He slips his gun into the back of his jeans.

"What do I do?" Mycroft asks, realizing both he and Sherlock are out of their depths. John shifts into soldier mode and Sherlock watches with fascination.

"I need to get to the suburbs, where the risk of collateral is minimized; also, if you could contact three of my former team, I'd appreciate it."

Mycroft was only able to get in contact with two, Kruger never made it out.

**TDS: **Thoughts? Next chapter will be up on Saturday.


	8. Chapter 8

**TheDarkestShinobi: **As promised! Don't leave yet, there is an alternate ending coming up! Please review with your thoughts!

"Loverboy! Gator!" The two smiled at him as they walked into the large house. John wraps his arms around both of them and Sherlock watches with a frown. Mycroft's gaze displays pity, so Sherlock ignores it as he focuses on the other three, who John has stopped hugging. He's got a hand on 'Gator's' shoulder and another on 'Loverboy's' shoulder. Neither of them seem to mind.

"We heard there was a small war in London, thought we could help." One says and the other nods.

"It's Colonel." Sherlock watched their faces pale. John nods.

"No." Gator looks away and John's hand squeezes his shoulder.

"He alone?" Loverboy asks and John grimaces.

"Probably not, but he is the most dangerous." John cedes and Sherlock places his hands in his pockets.

"He always was," Gator grumbles and Mycroft raises an eyebrow at this. John removes his hands and spins to face the Holmes brothers and both of them unconsciously straighten slightly.

"Holmes, both of you," John addresses. "Get the hell out and stay out."

It speaks for Sherlock's state that he does so without a sound. Mycroft hesitates at the door to look back at John mapping out the best places to hide and attack from in the house.

..

_Painless_

..

John's an idiot. It becomes immediately apparent that he shouldn't have brought the other two into this. Moran doesn't come alone, and Gator and Loveboy pick apart his team like experts but Moran manages to locate them and incapacitate them. John looks down at the floor as he focuses on trying to hear. That or kill them, but he's trying to be hopeful.

"I didn't kill them." Moran shouts across the house as if hearing John's question. "I should have, but I liked 'em." John supposes that's a compliment. "Decent guys, you know?"

"Moriarty's dead." John shouts back, knowing he's given his position away.

"I know." John hears footsteps coming closer.

"So, why?" He needs to know. Moran said John was the only one he'd have a problem killing, but it didn't seem to be a problem now.

"Moriarty paid me already, it's an incomplete job." John wants to roll his eyes. A pride thing? John races to the other side of the room and spots Moran crossing the hall. Moran hasn't noticed him yet, but he may have heard his footsteps. John leans against the wall waiting for Moran to come through the archway.

Instead, John hears an unexpected sound. Moran is laughing. John looks around quickly, but he can't see the other and he is sure he isn't in a highly visible spot. Where is Moran, then? The laughing ends as quickly as it begins and John lifts the gun trying to figure out where to aim.

"Come on Johnny," Moran whines childishly and John is reminded of Moriarty. That's good. It would be easier to fight Moriarty's gunman than his friend. "Don't kill me with the gun I got you!" John knows Moran can see him, but he can't shoot him. Surveillance? A partner?

…

_There will be a second man_

…

"How _did_ you get it to me?" John questions "England's not really gun friendly." Draw it out. Find him.

"She's really not," Moran agrees, "but I'll keep my secrets. You're a criminal too, just for keeping her." John knows that much is true; it's why Lestrade and Mycroft pretend they don't know he has one. It's why he never let Sherlock take it.

"I'm less of a criminal than you." He bites back because he has to believe that's true. He handled his addiction to adrenaline the saner way.

"But we're still monsters."

John suddenly wonders if Moran ever got therapy. Sure, John's therapy never helped, but John didn't need therapy.

John feels Moran move before he sees him and he drops his sig as Moran's blade slices his arm. John curses and punches Moran in the face. They both pull back. John curses that he let himself get distracted enough to give away the first hit and to get sliced up. John locks eyes with Moran and tries not to think of the fact that they went out for drinks just last week.

"Looks nasty." Moran comments and John's not sure if Moran's trying to compliment himself.

"I've had worse." He retorts and Moran nods. He knows that, he's seen it. Now he's going to try and do worse than that. Moran lunges forward with the knife and John brings his wrists together around Moran's causing him to drop it. John keeps twisting the wrist and Moran falls to the ground. It was either that or have his wrist broken. Moran swings his leg around to sweep Watson but John already moved out of the way.

…

"_That-ah-always gets me." Moran gets up, rubbing his wrist before kicking John in the chest then going for his face. _

…

"I always fell for that." Moran jumps to his feet and John brings up his leg to block Moran's first kick, his second gets sidestepped. John ducks to avoid the third and Moran pulls back. John takes half a step forward and is caught off guard by Moran's next attack. He gets turned around and feels Moran's arm wrap around his neck.

John recognizes the hold and the dizziness. It's a sleeper hold and he has no more than ten seconds before his body stops. He twists slightly and rams his elbow into Moran's rib. The hold stays strong. John knows he can't deadweight; Moran is too strong. He throws himself to the ground, tossing Moran over his head. Moran grunts as John choughs. The two of them stand and take the other in; both of them trying to quickly recover. John looks to his bleeding arm and Moran smirks.

"How long do you have left?" John raises his arms to either side of his face, blocking Moran's two punches. He gets three of his blocked.

"Minutes, not seconds." He grunts as he jumps back.

…

"_Seconds Captain, not minutes"_

…

Moran takes a step forward and John pivots on his good leg so that the bad leg connects with Moran's face. Moran spins around with the force of it.

"Shit!" he curses as his nose starts to bleed. He's sure he's cracked a tooth. "You didn't teach me that one." John smirks as he steps forward and plants his back foot lifting the other for a side kick. Moran stumbles backwards and John repeatedly flexes his fingers, not too much longer now.

"I noticed you stopped using the arm." John doesn't answer, settling into his stance. "It's a real shame, this; you and I." Moran runs and tackles John to the ground and John losses half of he air in his lunges to it. John holds up his arms as Moran swings for his head. Hit. Block. Hit. Hit. Block. John lifts his legs to throw Moran off, but he can already tell he's got at least a concussion, stage two. He rushes towards Moran, who throws up a kick. John ducks into a sweep and Moran lands flat on his back. John sees the knife on the floor and dives for it hoping for a quick end. He knows his body can't take much more. Moran stands and John, still on a knee throws it as best as he can.

Moran taught him well, it seems, because the knife sinks into Moran's chest. John turns to run as Moran yanks it out throwing it back. Moran is accurate, and knows the best place to his for maximum damage is the scapula. He picks the left to be viscous, plus it's the heart. It sinks into the back of John's shoulder and they both collapse to the ground. John groans out and Moran gasps. He's choking on his own blood at this point. John wonders where the Sig is.

"At least it'll be the both of us going down." Moran coughs and John thinks he's right. It will be both of them dying, no more grieving, and no more fighting. They'll go over to the other side together.

"WRONG!" A voice yells from the next room and it takes John a second to recognize it.

"Sherlock?" John groans as he feels Sherlock's hands touching his shoulder. Sherlock should not have been here, it was too dangerous. "No. Leave it," John hisses. "It'll cut more if you take it out." Sherlock leaves the blade in, even though it pains him to see John like that.

"Should've died." Sherlock can hear Moran groan out, his eyes narrow but he has to focus on John.

"The paramedics are on the way, John."

"Good. Great. Hide my gun." Sherlock laughs as he runs towards it; how quickly they fall into their old patterns. He pauses next to Moran and stares down at him.

He's dying, but there is still time to hurt him. Sherlock looks away as he hears the sirens and shakes his head as he retrieves the gun. When he looks at it, feels its familiar weight and hears the sirens, he has to admit it feels like coming home. By the time he gets back to Moran he's dead and John is crying on the ground. At first, Sherlock thinks it's because of the pain but he realizes its sentiment as he notices John doesn't seem to be favoring any part of his body. This is his fault. John's not sobbing, but the tears flow more than Sherlock has ever seen. More than John had at his grave, anyway. Sherlock steps back as the paramedics run in to check on both of the fallen men. Once Moran is covered up, John, knife removed and mostly patched up, sits on the stretcher and gazes back to the house.

"I'm sorry, John." Sherlock says, and he truly is, but he understands that John doesn't want to let him in right now. Sherlock knows John may not ever want him again after this. Moran was his best friend, and now he's dead. John is in shock, he could benefit from a hideous orange blanket right now. Sherlock has just come back from the dead. John has just killed Moran. John closes his eyes and tries not to notice the tears coming out. Sherlock takes a step back and closes his mouth. Surely this wasn't it? It could be. Moran was John's best friend, and Sherlock is the reason that John killed him.

"The painkillers are almost ready Dr. Watson." John hears and lets out a shaky breath.

He doesn't want this; he doesn't want any of it.

He doesn't let Sherlock ride in the ambulance with him, and he asks not to have any visitors for a few hours. Mycroft ignores that request and strolls in after John is patched up.

"I'd congratulate you, but that would only upset you." It would. John shifts, his left shoulder aching painfully again. No permanent damage, but lots of physical therapy in the future. "I wanted to inform you that Moriarty's network is officially disbanded, so you should be safe from retaliation." Mycroft motions to the box in his hand as he puts it on the table. "The code is an old address." 221B then. "I felt this should be returned, despite circumstances." It being illegal and part of the investigation are two very big ones as far as John is concerned. "There is also a sizeable severance package and the bounty."

Bounty. Sebastian Moran's bounty. John clenches his jaw.

"You should be set, whether or not you choose to re-associate yourself with Sherlock."

"Oh God," John lets his head roll, "that's what this is about." He voices angrily and then motions to the door with his right hand. "Send him in!" Sherlock is at the door in an instant and John finds it endearing in a creepy sort of way.

"Sherlock, I asked you not to be dead," John starts, "and you weren't. I'm sure there is a very good reason why and that I'll forgive you almost as soon as I know it. You are still my friend, Sherlock."

"I have fooled you and lied to you. I hurt you, even before Bart's. Then I made you watch me die and made you kill your best friend as soon as I came back." He looks down as he speaks, waiting for a final blow; the killing shot. John's look softens and he shakes his head.

"Not all true, I haven't killed you yet." Sherlock looks up in shock "but don't start up with the body parts in the fridge again!"

Sherlock is still in shock so John spares a moment to think about Moran.

_**I've killed a man,**_

_Any man who can talk about chicken for an hour and a half was well disserving of the nickname Colonel. _

_**A friend,**_

_It's truly Christmas and John smiles for the first time in a long time to see his sig with a full magazine and box of bullets_.

_**An enemy.**_

"_I didn't kill them. I should have,"_

_**A great man**_

_Moran inches forward with his foot and run his hand up the gun like a lover._

_**But not a very good one in the end.**_

_John drops his sig as Moran's blade slices his arm. _

_**Neither of them were. **_

_When Mycroft lets his hand go it doesn't shake. It doesn't shake in the school when he pulls out his gun either. _

"_Perhaps he should have died out there."_

Sherlock sits next to John.

"I was concerned that I had overstepped any and every boundary and that you would finally have had enough of me. You are a good man, John, and I was convinced I had done too much."

"_Because Sherlock Holmes is a great man, and one day, if we're lucky, he might be a good one."_

_**But maybe John could be one again.**_

**END**

**TDS: **Stick around for the alternate ending. Should be up around Monday. Review!


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